


Ne me quitte pas

by orphan_account



Series: Ballad [1]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Based on a song, Childhood Memories, Hurt, M/M, Serenading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 17:00:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18877390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Robbie listens to James playing to himself.





	Ne me quitte pas

**Author's Note:**

> Please listen to the song, it is beautiful.  
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Vz6r0TP4FBI  
> (I suppose you know it anyway.)

He heard the sounds of James’s guitar floating through the open window down into the warm evening air even before he reached the old brick stone building his former sergeant lived in. He stood still for a moment, wondering if it was impolite to disturb the lad’s playing, but on the other hand Robbie was in a hurry because he had to finish packing for his and Laura‘s New Zealand- trip tonight. Anyway, he wouldn’t intrude very long, he just wanted to ask James if he had by any chance left his charger in James’s flat after their last takeaway- night.

But just as Robbie continued his way towards the entrance door, the music changed from random plucking to a proper tune. He stopped again, this time right beneath the window, and listened intently. He was almost certain that he had heard the song before, but something wasn’t right, something about the lyrics…

 _Robbie’s sitting in the small, slightly shabby kitchen of their Tyneside flat, watching his mother washing the dishes after breakfast. On the cupboard stands her new pride and joy, a mint-green second-hand Roberts- R200 radio; she is humming along with a grave, outlandish tune which seems to make her very sad, because tears are running down her face._  
_Robbie is upset to see his usually cheerful Mum crying, however no matter how much he endeavours to listen to the song closely, he can’t understand the words and therefore doesn’t understand why his mother is sad. The lyrics just don’t make any sense;_ neh-meh key tepa?

_Just when he opens his mouth to ask her about the reason of her tears, his father steps into the kitchen, looking at Mum with a frown. He is irritable, preparing for another double shift at the furnace._  
_„Why are you crying over this French gibberish, Maude? The frogeater could be singing about his new hair dryer for all we know.“_

_His mother quickly wipes her face with her apron._

_„He isn’t. He is very sad, you can just hear it in his voice. I can feel it, George, I am sure he is singing about someone he lost, someone he loves so much it hurts.“_

„ _I rather think that the BBC have lost their mind, playing that sort of foreign rubbish in the_ Woman’s hour _now“ Dad replies, walking over to the radio and turning it off._

_Mum’s face hardens for a second before she mutters „Of course, you’re right, dear“. Then she gives Robbie a watery smile and turns back to the kitchen sink._

A lawnmower which had been at work a few houses down the street fell silent, and James was suddenly clearly audible. Robbie was now sure that it was the same song, but the lyrics were in English instead of French. He stepped even closer to the brick wall and tilted his head up towards the open window, towards the voice.

_Please don’t go away._  
_I will give you pearls of rain_  
_From countries_  
_Where the rain never falls._

_I will dig up the ground_  
_Till I die; to cover you_  
_with gold and with light._

_I will create a kingdom_  
_Where love shall be king,_  
_Where love shall be law-_  
_And you shall be queen._

_Don’t leave me._  
_Don’t leave me._

James’s voice sounded rough, completely different than the few times he had heard him play with his band. There was more emotion buried in it, more passion. The tune was just as gloomy as Robbie remembered it, but in connection with the words it was almost too much for him. He leaned against the warm wall and closed his eyes, which were burning with tears. Tears caused by the strong atmosphere of the song or by the memory of his long lost childhood he didn’t know. Above Robbie, James played on, as if he was singing for him and not for the empty street and the whispering trees.

_It has often been seen_  
_For fire to erupt again_  
_From the extinct volcano_  
_That was thought too old_

_There are, it seems,_  
_Scorched lands_  
_Yielding more wheat_  
_Than the best April_

_And when the evening comes,_  
_For the sky to blaze,_  
_The red and the black,_  
_Do they not wed?_

_Don’t leave me._  
_Don’t leave me._

Robbie’s heart was pounding now. Why was James singing this song? Why now, why here? Was it… was it meant for him? _Please don’t go away._ But he would have said something earlier, surely he would. He wouldn’t have gone home after all their evenings together and played this song to himself. He wouldn’t—or would he?

  
_Don’t leave me._

  
Robbie shouldn’t have been standing there underneath his friend’s window, eavesdropping on something which was clearly not meant for him to hear, no matter if it was meant _for_ him or not.  
But he couldn’t force himself to move, his chest was heaving and his eyes still watering; he was fixed upon this wall, this house, this voice.

_Please don’t go away._  
_I will wail no more_  
_I will speak no more_  
_I will hide myself here_

_To watch you_  
_Dance and smile_  
_And listen to you_  
_Sing and laugh._

_Let me become_  
_The shadow of your shadow_  
_The shadow of your hand_  
_The shadow of your dog._

_Don't leave me,_  
_Don't leave me,_  
_Don't leave me,_  
_Don’t leave me._

„Don’t leave me, Robbie“ James whispered, so softly that Robbie could almost not hear it. The muffled sounds which followed told him that the other man was sobbing now, like he was. He wasn’t shocked by hearing his name, he had expected it since James had sung the first verse of the ballad.

Robbie couldn’t do it, he couldn’t. He loved James, had loved him for a long time, but he knew that he was not what the lad needed. He had caused him too much pain already, this proved it.  
It would be better for both of them to forget, only for a while.

Robbie still heard James‘s crying, still felt the sorrow that had escaped through the song. His mother had been right, loving hurt.

_The red and the black, do they not wed?_

He shook his head, pushed himself off the wall and walked back down the still empty street beneath the still whispering trees.


End file.
